


Building Bridges

by killingeveforever



Series: Villaneve oneshots [4]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of Bill - Freeform, Soft Eve Polastri, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Spoilers for everything, mentions of Oksana's family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingeveforever/pseuds/killingeveforever
Summary: Set just after the end of 3x08. They walk away, they turn around but what comes next?
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Villaneve oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758697
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	Building Bridges

“Now what?”

“Now we walk, and we never look back.” She says with a finality in her tone that she wishes doesn’t have to be present. A large part of her is thankful that they’re no longer facing each other, she doesn’t want to see Eve’s reaction, or for her to see her own. 

“But I-” Eve protests weakly, and Villanelle can’t help but feel a little bit happy at the fact. Briefly and out of their own accord, she finds her eyes shutting, her back unconsciously leaning into the older woman for what is going to be the last time. 

“Don’t turn. Just walk.” Her first step is the most painful one she has ever taken. Without the gentle warmth of Eve, the night air is cold, and she detects a breeze that she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes blur with unshed tears but still, she keeps walking. One foot in front of the other. She’s been so preoccupied over walking herself, on forcing her head to stay facing forward that she realises she has no idea whether Eve has started to move too. 

At least she got to dance with her, she thinks. At least she got to hold her in her arms, even if it was only once. It’s funny, in those few perfect minutes she could have fooled herself into thinking that Eve cares in a way everyone else has proved that they don’t. But this is for the best, she tells herself desperately. This way, Eve can be safe, Eve can be normal, get a chicken. She won’t encourage Eve’s monster, any longer however much Eve wants her to. 

She continues to walk, though each step is becoming shorter and shorter, slowing closer and closer to a stop. She sees Eve’s laugh as she makes a silly joke about the pleasure of seeing her face. It’s then that she realises how little she has seen of the other’s smile. Her heart twists as she knows that Eve will no longer see it in her future, and certainly not over and over again. She stops. 

It’s supposed to only be for a second. Just a moment for her to pause the mess of her mind. But as she stops she can’t find anything in her to move again. So she stands. Hesitant, which is only exaggerated as the other pedestrians pass her in purposeful waves. She curses herself at her lack of self-control.

Every cell in her body is screaming at her to turn. Her heart races, she bites her lip to stop the tears from spilling out. It’s torture. The pain is the worst she’s ever felt, worse than the stabbings, the scratches, and the failed strangulations. But she can’t help it. 

Every logical thought in her knows it’s a bad idea. That nothing will hurt more than seeing her walk away. But she can’t not. She does the one thing she said not to do. She turns. 

She’s there. 

Eve is on the other side of the bridge. She must have walked for a while, neither of them are near the middle of the bridge where they left each other. But she’s turned too. 

She’s never been more thankful that Eve doesn’t seem to listen to anyone.

Her face breaks into an awkward, pained smile before she even realises what she is doing. Eve is too far away for Villanelle to tell how she has reacted. But suddenly she isn’t. 

Eve is running, her shorter legs and her less than athletic past making her close the gap between them in significantly more time than Villanelle would, but her unmistakable figure is certainly coming closer towards her. 

Villanelle freezes in shock. 

Eve must be close enough to realise, as she slows down to a walk, takes careful, concentrated steps towards the younger woman. 

As soon as she knows that she is in earshot, Villanelle turns and fully faces her elder. 

“Eve, you don’t want this.”

Eve flinches slightly at the sternness in the Russian’s voice. “I do.” 

“You think you do but you don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

“No.”

“Yes. You don’t want this Eve.”

“No Villanelle. No one gets to tell me what I want anymore. I want this, I want you, I want whatever we are. I want it.” She says firmly. Her words are powerful, and the way that she pauses between her sentences tells Villanelle that she has thought about this, rehearsed it before. But that is not enough to tell Villanelle that Eve is making the right decision. 

“Eve I am a monster. A monster. You can’t choose that.”

“You’re not. No one is, but certainly not you.” She says, and the certainty in her voice combined with the closeness of their proximity is quickly becoming overwhelming for Villanelle.

“I am Eve. Listen to me. You can’t choose me.” She tries, now not even bothering to try to hide the desperation in her tone. 

“Tough, I’ve chosen. And I choose you.”

If Villanelle wasn’t feeling as much anguish as she is right now, she would have rolled her eyes at Eve’s never-ending stubbornness. But she’s never been so conflicted as she is in this present moment…

She breaks down. Her eyes are streaming, the tears hot against the cold air. She’s choking on her sobs as she hangs over the edge of the bridge, her eyes flitting over the rushing water and the passing people as if they can save her. Each breath is painful, and all she can feel is the shaking of her hands and the racing of her heart. 

She’s vaguely aware of Eve’s presence, a hesitant hand on her shoulder and a muttered: “Villanelle, please.” But she can’t give in. Harshly, she shrugs off the gesture of comfort, and turns, turns to the dark water instead. 

“No, Eve. Go.”

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Just do what you’re told for once and leave okay?” she says, cursing how her voice cracks and the Russian influence to her accent becomes stronger. 

Eve sighs in response, and Villanelle is certain that if she could see her right now, she’d be rolling her eyes. The space between them is quiet for a moment, the only sounds she can hear are the chatter of strangers, the comforting car engines and the distant murmurs of fast water. For a second, Villanelle believes that Eve must have left. 

A sharp tug on her arm proves otherwise. 

Villanelle looks up at her, having never felt so lost. “What  
now?”

“We’re walking to mine.” She says so firmly that even Villanelle doesn’t want to argue. Instead, all the fight left in her leaves, and she lets herself be led, down the bridge, through street after street. 

Determined, Eve walks them through the familiar streets. Desperately, she tries to tear her focus away from Villanelle’s vacant expression, but even as her eyes travel over the surroundings it is all that she can see. Her eyes are wider, she decides, and her quite frankly ridiculous yellow coat appears to dwarf her more than it had been all day. The faint  
traces of tear tracks on her slightly flushed cheeks glisten, hesitant under the amber glow of streetlights. Her mind drifts back to the bridge, to the most honest conversations the two of them have ever shared, and the feeling of the assassin’s warm arms around her on that ballroom floor.

Neither of them have the current mental capacity to know how long it has taken them, but they finally arrive at the familiar residence of Eve’s apartment. It’s dark, it’s dingy, it’s got its fair share of dirt, but Villanelle can’t help but let a small smile spread onto her face at the simple furniture and cluttered shelves. 

“Sorry about the mess.” Eve apologises as they simultaneously kick off their shoes, but makes no move to tidy. 

“No. It’s just how I remember it.” Villanelle replies, softly, as she hesitantly sits on the armchair, surreptitiously moving a pile of clothes to give herself some space. 

Eve’s brows furrow for a second in confusion, before a look of realisation dawns on her face. 

Villanelle giggles at the sight. “Did you forget my present Eve?” she asks, mock horror replacing her worn expression. 

Eve chuckles for a moment. “How could I?” she replies dryly, and though she would normally be a bit annoyed at Villanelle for how she gets through to her so easily, right now she is just thankful that she is acting a bit more like herself. 

“You kept it?” Villanelle asks before she can stop herself.

Eve looks at the younger woman, sees her embarrassed blush at the question and is reminded once again that the versions of Villanelle she knows are not quite the one in front of her. “Yeah, I did.” Now it is her turn to fight a rising blush as she remembers the state of the poor toy. Before Villanelle can get anything more out of her, she changes the subject hastily. 

“You’re tired. We’ve had a busy few days. Take the bed Villanelle, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Her face falls slightly, and Eve pretends not to notice, pretends not to feel the tug on her heartstrings. Wordlessly, she follows Eve’s instructions, takes the pyjamas that are in Eve’s waiting hand, disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes, and then slips under the covers. 

Eve watches her for a moment, before busying herself with getting ready herself. It’s odd, how comfortable she feels with Villanelle in her apartment, how at peace she feels with the girl who has always given more questions than answers. Smiling to herself for a moment, she almost laughs out loud at how and earth she has managed to get here, before collecting her thoughts and bundling her dirty clothes into the laundry basket. Deep down, she knows that this situation is far from perfect, and though they may have built a bridge of trust between them, it’s still shaky. But the morning is the time for these sorts of worries, she decides, so she makes a hesitant journey towards her armchair, careful not to wake Villanelle, who is lying peacefully on her bed. 

She grabs a blanket, shifts some meaningless clutter onto the floor, and settles. It’s not comfortable by any means, the cushion’s padding has sunk and the back of the chair already digs in painfully, but Eve feels more content than she has in months. She yawns, waiting for sleep to find her. Just as she is about to drop off, a soft voice startles her. 

Villanelle is whispering, even though they’re the only the people in the room, and Eve can’t help but find this adorable. “Eve? Eve are you awake?”

“Yeah, I’m awake.” She sighs. 

“Can you come here?” she asks, and as she has never sounded so young, so vulnerable, Eve finds herself obeying her wish. 

“Sleep next to me.” Villanelle commands. “That chair doesn’t look comfortable at all.”

Eve pauses for a second, Villanelle is right it is not comfortable at all, but she is still unsure. “Villanelle I-”

“I pinky promise I won’t stab you. I’m not as rude as you.” She teases, and Eve swears she can see the corners of her eyes glittering through the dark. She doesn’t press this though, only lifts up the covers and enters the bed, too exhausted to care. 

“Goodnight Villanelle.” She says into the darkness, finality and fondness in her tone. 

“Goodnight.” She replies, and Eve swears she can hear the smile in her voice. 

They both fall asleep in a comfortable near-silence, the only sounds the distant hum of late-night traffic and the slowing of their heavy breathing. 

Eve wakes with a start. 

It’s barely 4 am but she’s wide awake. Her heart is pounding, she can feel every beat in her ears, and she immediately sits up, breathing heavily. She scans the room warily, every cell on high alert for danger. It’s only when she begins to calm down that she notices it. 

Villanelle. 

Villanelle crying in her sleep. She’s facing away from Eve, but that doesn’t stop her from seeing the tell-tale shuddering of her shoulders, doesn’t stop her from hearing the pitiful whimpers into the pillow. Her heart wrenches in sympathy. 

“Villanelle?” she says quietly, but the sleeping woman doesn’t hear her, only becomes more distressed. Her limbs twitch, and one leg reaches out towards Eve, almost kicking her. 

“Villanelle? Villanelle, you’re asleep. You need to wake up.” She says more loudly. Villanelle only turns in her sleep in response, facing the ceiling. Her cheeks are red and damp with tears, and a hoarse voice screams, a painful sound that Eve realises must have been muffled by the pillow. 

She sighs in sympathy, gently holding her by the shoulders and shaking gently. No sooner than as Eve notices her eyes open, she finds herself under the assassin, Villanelle holding her down. Eve’s eyes widen slightly in shock and Villanelle comes to her senses, immediately sprinting to the bathroom. 

Eve sits up for a moment, before flopping back onto the bed. A large sigh leaves her body, and as the adrenaline begins to wear off, worry for the girl in her bathroom begins to deepen. She hears the fierce jets of water from her tap, imagines the girl hastily scraping at her face with her flannel, letting the cold water wash away the heat of the nightmare. Carefully, she pads through the darkness into the kitchen, deciding to fix this in the best way anyone living in England learns quickly, with tea. 

The kettle is loud, but Eve is past caring for the sleeping schedules of her neighbours. She searches for tea bags, finds something herbal that she only vaguely recognises but that seems calming and decides that it’ll have to do. Hastily, she adds a couple of spoons of sugar into both cups, having never cared for the hot drink herself, and having no idea whether it is a taste Villanelle has grown accustomed to. 

She makes her way back to the bathroom, the two steaming cups clinking as her unsteady hands place them on a nearby corner table. “Villanelle?” she tries, knocking on the door. The lock has been broken for as long as Eve remembers, but she is still unsure of what to do. 

There’s no response. 

“I uhh- I made tea?” she tries, chuckling awkwardly under her breath. 

“That won’t be necessary.” A cold voice says as the door creaks open. 

Villanelle exits the bathroom, her head held high. Her face bears no remnants of her earlier tears other than the faint smudges of red underneath her eyes. The honey-blond hair is harshly scraped back, and Eve thinks that she would look vaguely intimidating if it wasn’t for her worn t-shirt and too-short pyjama bottoms. Instead, her icy glare just trembles  
under the moonlight. 

Eve steps back as the younger woman gets her clothes together. “Villanelle-wait.”

Villanelle turns, rolling her eyes with a practised disinterest. “I’m leaving, Eve, I should never have come in the first place.”

Eve would believe it, but she knows her well enough to know when she’s lying, can see the slight tremor in the younger’s hands as she speaks. 

“No.”

“No, what?” Villanelle says, becoming frustrated. Eve can hear it in her voice, the way her accent cracks over the letters it usually wouldn’t, can almost see the glistening in her eyes as tears threaten to fall once again. 

“You’re not leaving,” Eve says firmly. “You’re going to sit here, drink tea and tell me why you need to leave, at-” she checks her alarm clock, “before five in the morning.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Eve. You told me to make it stop last night, and that’s what I’m going to do. Goodbye, Eve.” Villanelle says, moving to brush past the smaller woman. Her head is held high, but it doesn’t stop Eve from spotting the solitary tear in the corner of Villanelle’s left eye.

Desperate, Eve runs towards the door. She spreads herself across it, effectively blocking Villanelle’s exit. She’s not stupid, she knows the younger woman could easily toss her aside, but something inside her knows that she won’t. Villanelle is right in front of her now, harshly invading her personal space. Their heavy breathing mixes and Eve feels her heart rate speed up at their proximity. A strong hand moves to rest on her shoulder, and Eve prepares herself for the inevitable fall. It doesn’t come. 

Instead, Villanelle falls into her, holding her as if she’s the only thing that can stop her from collapsing. Eve’s arms hesitantly wrap around the taller girl, and one hand traces unconscious comforting circles around the small of her back. She’s pressed tightly against the door, and its uncomfortable hardness is causing the familiar ache in her shoulder, but she can’t bring herself to care. After what could have been minutes or hours (time has never been something worth counting when the two of them are together), Villanelle steps back, wiping her eyes with shaking hands. 

“I guess a cup of tea could be nice?” she manages, a weak smile painted over her features. 

“Sure.” Eve agrees. 

Ten minutes later, the two are sat on top of Eve’s bed. The elder had dug out some of her biggest sweaters, and she tries not to aw at Villanelle’s sweater paws. Their fresh teas are hot and sweet and they are both grateful for the comfort. The night outside may be cold and dark, but the room is warm, bathed in a soft yellow light from Eve’s bedside table. In this light, Eve can’t help but notice how much younger Villanelle looks like this, how much smaller she is without the bright suits or crazy colours. 

She looks content, but Eve’s mind has been whirring with questions for too long now, and it is only so long before she bursts with them. “What were you dreaming about?” she asks, and Villanelle turns in surprise, her eyes clouding over for a split-second. 

“Nothing.” She says immediately. 

Eve stares at her, unflinching, raises a solitary eyebrow in response. She doesn’t want to push her, but there’s only so long she can wait. 

“Not nothing.” She tries again, quietly. Villanelle is no longer looking at her, instead, she focuses her attention on the sleeves of the sweater, absentmindedly picking at the fraying strands in an attempt to quell the trembling of her hands. She looks up for a moment, losing herself briefly in Eve’s eyes. “I uhh- I haven’t done this before. The whole talking about feelings thing.”

Eve laughs. “I haven’t done this in a while. Even longer without alcohol.” She replies, causing the younger woman to relax, laughing slightly. 

“You really ought to see someone about that.”

Eve is momentarily offended, but then realises that she is probably right. She rolls her eyes. “Take your time Villanelle. I’m not going anywhere.” She says, choosing to ignore the comment. 

“Why did you turn?” Villanelle asks, and Eve sighs internally, knowing that she was never going to get anything out of her without giving something of herself too. 

Of course, it would be this question. Eve’s not sure of the answer herself, but she starts to speak anyway. “I couldn’t not.” She says, finding the truth amongst all the uncertainty the past few years have brought her. “I can’t explain it in a way I understand. Meeting you has changed my life,” she begins, careful not to use the word “ruin”, she knows that it’s not true, she knows that she has played a more active part in that than she has ever admitted. “I tried to blame you for so long for it, but on that bridge, I couldn’t and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. I turned because I can’t imagine myself without you, I turned because I never want to. I turned because I’m always drawn to you. Everything about you fascinates me. I want to know you Villanelle, and if I was to keep walking I’d be throwing that away. I turned because I had to see you physically walk away to know if everything was over. I turned because I chose you, over any part of a normal life, over everything I know, and I’d choose you over and over again.”

The younger woman is completely still, her mouth open slightly in shock. 

“But why? I’m a monster Eve, I thought you knew we are no  
good for each other?” she questions. 

Eve pauses for a moment, ponders the question for a second. “Where has this ‘monster’ thing come from?” she asks, and she knows that she’s playing dirty by replying with another question, but she needs to get to the bottom of this more than she’s ever needed anything before. 

“Hélène. Dasha. My mother.” She responds, her accent harsh as it curves around the names. “Beautiful monster. Killing machine. Agent of chaos. I bring darkness.” She spits out. 

Eve’s eyes close for a second, in shame, in understanding. “You’re none of those things Villanelle.”

“I am Eve.” She says, her volume rising with wet anger. “I am all of those things Eve, don’t pretend. I’ve scared you, I’ve shot you. I’ve killed so many people. I am all of those things.”

“I know you have, but you’re not.” She tries, fighting her instincts as she tries to stay calm. 

“I KILLED YOUR BEST FRIEND.” She’s shouting now, right up in Eve’s face, the tea long forgotten. 

“I know,” Eve replies tiredly, barely looking at her. “He would have liked you.”

Villanelle’s anger is instantly replaced with confusion. “What?”

Eve laughs. “One of the last conversations, we were talking about your tits. He knew I fancied you from the start, way before me.”

Villanelle’s eyes widen comically at the admission. Of course, this would be the way Eve would finally admit their attraction was more  
than one-sided. 

“I wouldn’t be here with you now if I hadn’t forgiven you. He told me before Berlin that he was going to die there, I should have listened. He’d be proud, it’s an interesting way to go. Bill was never the one to be boring. Besides, Bill knew what he was doing. Only Bill would follow an assassin with no back-up into a club, knowing he had a baby at home.” Eve  
explains, and it is the truth. Yes, Villanelle was the one who killed him, but she was far from the only one responsible. 

“Why would he have liked me?”

“Because you’re… you’re… you.” Eve says weakly. “Because you’re funny and intelligent and witty and fast and you stick up for yourself. Because you’re dynamic, exciting, and because you’re nothing like Niko.”

Villanelle splutters at the last sentence. 

Eve rolls her eyes. “Bill thought he was boring.” 

Villanelle can’t help but let a smug smile creep onto her face at the thought.

Eve notices, smiling fondly. “Now, stop distracting me. Why else do you think you’re a monster?” she questions and pretends not to notice how the space between them becomes heavier. They’re sat side by side now, and Villanelle had originally shifted, lying on her side to watch Eve, but now she sits next to her, not sparing her a glance as she stares straight ahead. 

“I killed my mother.” She says suddenly. She freezes, not expecting to have admitted it so easily. There’s a beat of silence in the room, and she feels herself become tenser at Eve’s lack of obvious reaction. 

“How?” she asks quietly, giving Villanelle no impression of how she has taken the news, and she’s too scared to turn to Eve to see her reaction. She can feel the elder’s eyes on her but she stubbornly stares ahead. 

“I broke her neck and set the house on fire.” She replies, fights desperately to stay emotionless, cold, and distant from the kill, but a traitorous sob escapes her throat and it’s too late. Wordlessly, Eve brings her towards her once again. This time she stops crying quickly, smiles a quick, fake smile at Eve, and apologises. “My step-father, a step-brother, and his girlfriend are dead now too.” Eve doesn’t bother to question how. 

“When?” she asks before she can stop herself. She knows it’s not appropriate, but nothing about their relationship has had much respect for boundaries anyway, so she knows Villanelle won’t mind too much. 

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“I thought-”

Villanelle immediately understands Eve’s thought process, thinks about the prison file she knows Eve probably is more familiar with than her. “So did I. Until Rome.”

Eve sighs. She wants to pretend that she’s surprised that The Twelve would do something like this because she’s not shocked at all. She vows not to question her on her family again. 

“My brother is the same though.” Villanelle continues, and Eve smiles, a genuine proud smile as she unknowingly proves her right. 

“The same how?”

“He is nice. He takes out his anger on sofas rather than people. He helps my half-brother cook, even though he can’t cook either. Can you cook, Eve?” she asks suddenly, finally looking back at the older woman. 

She laughs at the change of subject. Smiling, she gestures towards the piles of takeaway containers. “What do you think?” she asks, before answering the question properly. “Yeah, I can cook. I haven’t bothered for years, but I’m capable of making things without burning them.”

Villanelle smiles. “I can cook breakfast. Not cake though.”

Eve knows there’s a story behind that, but decides to save some mysteries for another day. 

“My half-brother is weird.” Villanelle continues. “He’s obsessed with Elton John. His room-” she begins, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the memory “-it’s like a shrine to him. I gave him the money to get tickets for his farewell tour.”

“You’ve proved yourself wrong already,” Eve says gently, watching as Villanelle’s head tilts to the side in confusion. 

“You don’t want to know why?” Villanelle questions, ignoring Eve’s comment for the minute. 

“Why what?” Eve asks, her brows furrowing in her own confused expression. 

“Why I killed them?”

She pauses, having not considered this a priority, but she senses it is a story Villanelle wants to share. “Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

“My mother and I. We are the same. She gave me this darkness.” She explains, her sentences short as she tries to hold it all together. Eve’s expression doesn’t change, give away any of her emotions. “But she can’t accept that. She denies her darkness. But it was spreading to Pytor, to Bor’ka. I couldn’t let that happen.” Villanelle explains, and Eve sees the  
woman beside her visibly deflate as the story is out in the open. 

Eve is about to speak when Villanelle continues. “I thought that they would want me. They didn’t. I thought I would belong. I didn’t. My mother, said that I’m not part of her family. I didn’t like that either.”

Eve struggles to find the right words to say, the phrasing to convey that she matters, that she belongs here, that she’s wanted but she falls short. “I’m proud of you.” She says instead. “You’ve proved them all wrong. You’re no machine Villanelle, if you were you wouldn’t care if you did this forever,” she starts, Villanelle’s words on the bridge having not escaped her mind. “You wouldn’t be able to cry, to laugh like you do now. You wouldn’t have your charming personality.” She pauses for a second, not wanting to feed into her ego too much. “And you’re more than your monster. So much more.”

“How?” the girl questions, vulnerability turning her voice quiet, and she turns to Eve with wide hesitant eyes. Eve notices how she is hanging on to her every word as if they are the only words that matter. And as the faint traces of fragile sunlight begin to enter the room, it feels as if that is true. 

“If you were only your monster, you wouldn’t have given your brother the Elton John tickets. You wouldn’t have tried to belong. You would have killed them all. You’d keep on killing, destroying until no one and nothing but you is left. But you haven’t, so you’re not” Eve explains, the certainty in her voice stronger than she had anticipated. 

Villanelle smiles briefly at her, before ducking her head, staring at the space between them. “Thanks, Eve.” She says, and it’s so quiet that Eve questions herself whether she ever heard a thing. 

“Carolyn’s right you know?” she says, after a few moments of quiet. 

“Right about what?” 

“You can’t just beat The Twelve.”

“Well, you can’t just give up!” Eve replies, the tension shifting as she becomes exasperated, despite having expected this. 

“Eve why can you never see what is good for you?” she asks and it’s an innocent enough question, but the way that Eve reacts suggests otherwise. 

“Please. I’ve never picked that path, and I’m not going to stop now. It would have saved a lot of heartache but I’m not stopping. They’re  
responsible for Kenny’s death. I can’t let the last few years be a waste. I can’t lose much more anyway.” She laughs, darkly. 

“But Eve-”

“Don’t you see? You’ll never truly be free until they’re gone. Do you want to live on the run forever Villanelle? Because that’s what you’ll be doing. Sure, travelling may be fun for a while. You’ll get bored.” Her words are harsh, angry and her deepest insecurities are pouring out of her, disguised in petty insults.

“It would be best for both of us if we were to lay low, at least for a while.”

“If either of us did what was good for themselves we would never have met. Never would have had Carolyn question why we’re so interested in each other. Never would be where we are now.”

Villanelle sighs, understanding that no words would lessen the gravity of their situation. “I know.” She says quietly. 

There’s a moment of silence between them before Eve begins to speak. “I’m scared Villanelle. I haven’t been this scared in a long time.” She pauses, takes a shaky breath, and asks the question that has been playing on her lips since that fateful day in the ruins. “In Rome, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“You know.” The older woman replies, not quite having the courage to say the words out loud. 

Villanelle’s eyes light in recognition. She sighs, speaking slowly as if every word is carefully considered. “Eve, I feel things when I’m with you. Before I met you, my darkness was my weapon, my strength, but my biggest weakness, and I had no idea. I didn’t care about anything. Anyone, not really. And then you came along with your amazing hair and unflattering outfits and you found me. I didn’t even know I wanted anyone to find me until you did. It was fun, having someone so interested in me, it was a game and I was winning. But then suddenly it wasn’t. Suddenly I couldn’t do my job and just kill you and it terrified me. Suddenly I was buying a cabin in the depths of Alaska and planning to run away with you for you to say no. So yes, I meant it.”

Eve opens her mouth to speak, but she is cut off, Villanelle’s voice louder, more hysterical. 

“Wait-, I-I’m I’m not finished. All my life Eve, I’ve been told that I don’t feel things the way everyone else seems to. I don’t want to get too depressing for you, but I haven’t really seen any love first-hand, only in the movies. You know that Eve. So don’t you dare tell me that I don’t know what love is again because I know that okay?” 

Her words hang stubbornly in the air, their harsh truths a little too much for them both to bear. Eve sits back, her head in her hands as she tugs harshly on her hair as if it somehow held the answers. 

“But I want to.” A small voice, vulnerable and shaking. 

Eve looks up, and Villanelle is staring right back at her. Their faces are close, closer than they’d been since the bus. She smiles hesitantly at her younger, and presses a soft kiss on her forehead, lingering just a moment too long. Villanelle closes her eyes at the touch, the beginnings of a smile present on her lips. 

“I’d like that too.” Eve says. “We’ll mess up, we’ll mess up a lot. But I care about you Villanelle, I want you to be safe and I want you to be happy. I’d say I love you, but I have no idea what love is. I spent years denying it, but it’s true.”

“If I love you is the idea that never seeing you again is the most painful thing imaginable, but that I’d leave you a million times over if that kept you safe, then I love you. If love is wanting to see you all the time, but wanting you to be happy more then I love you. If I love you means that you are the closest thing to family in the world to me then I love you. If  
I love you means that you’re the most important thing to me then I love you. ” Villanelle’s words are carefully crafted, poetic in their address and Eve smiles through her silent tears at the parallels in her lines to the cheesiest of romantic comedies. 

“That’s a whole lot better than making out like I’m just a possession to you.” She says dryly, and they laugh together. Holding each other in their arms, they continue laughing and the tears running down their cheeks mix together until they’re simply crying. Whether it is relief, or whether it is just exhaustion, it is enough to send them both to sleep. 

//

It’s no surprise to Villanelle that they wake up spooning. She finds their legs intertwined and Eve’s head is buried safely in her chest, the dark curls tickling at her chin. With anyone else, she would find this suffocating, but with Eve, she only wants to be closer, to struggle to identify when one body ends and the other begins. The bedside lamp is still on, though the daylight streaming through the thin curtains is more likely the cause of her awakening. Absentmindedly, she runs her hand down Eve’s back, silently committing the gentle curve of her spine to her memory as she slowly wakes her up. 

Eve groans loudly, shuffling slightly in Villanelle’s arms to look at her. To Eve, she had never looked so beautiful, with her messy hair and eyes softened by sleep. “Morning.” She says quietly, and Villanelle smiles as she runs a hand through Eve’s hair, marvelling at its volume. 

“Morning.” She repeats, a content smile brightening all of her features. 

“What time is it?” Eve asks, making no move to escape Villanelle’s arms. 

“Almost three.” She replies. “Why didn’t you tell me how exhausting crying is?”

Eve laughs, almost all her worries from the previous day long forgotten. Hesitantly, she turns properly, so they’re facing each other properly, their faces inches apart. The air is thick with tension but they ignore it, instead, they simultaneously trace every centimetre of the other’s face with their eyes in near silence, their steady breathing the only sounds  
in the room. Eventually, Villanelle can take no longer, so her trembling hand takes Eve’s cheek, caressing the smooth skin carefully. 

When she opens her mouth to speak her voice is gravely. “Can I-"

Eve’s lips on hers are the answer to all of her unuttered questions. Their mouths dance together at their own unique rhythm, and it’s gentle and it’s careful and it’s soft. It is all the things the world would say that they are not capable of but it is theirs. Eve loses herself in Villanelle, in the way her tongue intertwines with her own, in the faint smell of her perfume, in her hands tugging slightly as they bury in her hair. They only break apart when they can no longer breathe, lying side by side, their chests heaving. 

Eve’s stomach disrupts to the quiet moment, a reminder that they haven’t eaten or drank in far too long. A faint blush rises up Eve’s cheeks as they laugh, but Villanelle rolls her eyes, and gets up, offering Eve a hand too. 

They stay quiet as they make breakfast together, simply basking in the moment of domesticity before it passes. Villanelle insists on cooking the sausages, while Eve is given strict orders on laying the table. She would have protested, but watching Villanelle make herself at home makes her smile, so she just rolls her eyes and puts up with it. 

Breakfast is a quiet affair too, and the pair find something comfortable in the lack of secrets between them.

“So Alaska?” Eve asks. 

“Alaska.” Villanelle replies, through a mouthful of sausage.

They may not have a plan, and the threat of The Twelve still lingers in the shadows but somehow that is okay. Because they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! :)


End file.
